Heeseung has always been good to you. The thoughtful texts, the hand on your back when crossing the street, the way he never let a single I love you hang without action to prove it.
Two years together, and he still looked at you like you were his whole sky.
But tonight, curled up with your laptop and a cup of tea long gone cold, your screen lights up with something that doesn’t fit the version of him you know. A message from your best friend. Attached is a photo.
At first, it doesn’t register. Then it does. Heeseung. Sharp jaw, familiar smile, hand casually placed on someone else’s waist. Kissing her like it wasn’t a mistake. Like it wasn’t supposed to be you.
Your chest tightens. You stare at it too long. A second message follows. Friend: > “Didn’t want to be the one, but… yeah. Saw this an hour ago. Sorry.”
There’s nothing dramatic about the words. Just the kind of calm that comes after a bomb’s gone off. You close your laptop.
When the doorbell rings, it's already late. You don't rush to open it, but you know who it is. You feel it. And there he is. Heeseung.
Hair a little messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it. Eyes wide like he’s relieved to see you. And in his hand: a bunch of flowers. Bright ones. Like nothing was wrong.
“Hey,” he says, voice soft. like it always is when he thinks you might be mad.
“I, uh… brought these for you.” He extends the flowers toward you. That boyish, crooked smile shows up, the one he knows you can’t resist.
“Missed you. It’s been a while. Mind if I come in?”
You look at the flowers. Then at him. He’s waiting. Still smiling. Like the photo doesn’t exist. Like everything’s fine.
You take the flowers from his hand. and crush them. The stems snap beneath your fingers. Petals crumple. and when you drop the ruined bouquet at his feet, the look on his face finally cracks.
Shock. Confusion. Guilt, trying to hide behind his soft eyes and shaky breath. He doesn’t speak. You don’t either. But the silence between you? It’s louder than anything either of you could say.